


Kiss Your Sassafras

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beginnings, M/M, Mild Claustrophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5990422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About to meet a possible sponsor, Oikawa Tooru is riding an elevator. He is cool, he is calm, he has prepared everything to the 'nth degree.<br/>Then the elevator doors open and a man he'd assumed was abroad, his nemesis - Ushijima Wakatoshi - steps inside.</p><p> And it would have been fine, for even Tooru could hold his tongue for the eight floors he has to travel ... but then the elevator clanks to a halt.</p><p>And to his amazement, Ushiwaka-chan looks scared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Your Sassafras

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rinoa11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinoa11/gifts).



> This story is a belated gift for the beautiful Eilidh, who got me interested in this pairing when she wrote Swan Flight (go read, it's fabulous). I'm sorry it's so late, darling.
> 
> Oh and ... the title for this is taken from 'Love in an Elevator' but Aerosmith.

The pale suit and turquoise shirt unbuttoned at the neck was the best choice, Tooru decided.

He’d considered a tie, but decided against, partly because the silver and turquoise stripes didn’t exactly match the shade of his shirt, but mainly he’d thought it better to look a _leetle_ more casual. It was a sports sponsorship deal he was chasing, and not a job in a bank. According to his agent, they were interested in his charisma and success, not his ability to balance an account.

Tooru was satisfied with the reflection starting back at him, even if a certain someone had snorted at the ensemble, saying it was ‘very Seijou’.

 _Sunglasses,_ he wondered, deciding that yes, he could get away with them without looking like a dick because it was summer, so he’d be dumber to go without. Walking to his bedside cabinet, he sorted through the top draw, pulled out a pair of Raybans, discarded them for the Revos, frowned at the Mui Muis (an expensive mistake) then flicked back to the Raybans because he really couldn’t go wrong with them. Understated, yet a classic.

He pulled his sleeves halfway up his forearms, flicked up the collar on his jacket, scowled and pulled it down, then grinned.

_Okay, let’s rock and roll._

***

Entering the building, Tooru headed straight for the reception desk. There were two receptionists and he chose the younger one, flashing her a grin. She stared up at him, smiling automatically, but beyond that, there was no recognition in her perusal.  He coughed before announcing his name, raising his voice on the last syllable. She checked the computer, nodded that he was expected, and handed over a visitor’s pass.

“Kobayashi-san’s office is on Floor Eight,” she informed him, and gestured towards the elevator.

“You’re Oikawa Tooru, aren’t you?”  It was the other receptionist, around his age, with hair arranged in a braided bun, and red lipstick applied with perfection.

“I was the last time I looked,” he replied, bestowing on her his ‘charming’ smile.

“Mmm, thought so. I saw your match last week.”

“Ahh, I’m sorry,” he murmured, and sighed because they’d lost, narrowly, but he had played well.

She smirked. “I’m not. I support the Panthers.”

He didn’t let his smile falter, even when she continued to talk, mentioning the uproar when the Panthers new Middle Blocker had served an ace.

“Hmm, I served more,” he whispered, leaning over her desk and pulling a sad face.

“Ah, yes, but everyone expects them from you, Oikawa-san,” she replied. “He’s new and clumsy, so obviously we were cheering.”

“Well, I am pleased you enjoyed the match. It’s always nicer to talk to fans, even of opposing teams,” he said, and stepped away towards the elevator.  Then, feeling his palms sweat, he checked himself. “I am a little early. Is there somewhere I could wait before my appointment?”

“There’s a cafe on floor fifteen,” the first receptionist butted in. “That’s right at the top.”

“Perfect,” Tooru replied. “I can stare out over Osaka and contemplate my life while enjoying a brownie.”

“You might get crumbs on that _beautiful_ suit,” the older receptionist, the one with the braided hair and a suddenly less amusing tongue, mocked in a way that reminded him of Mattsun or Makki – maybe both.

“Shortbread, then,” he said sweetly. And with a slight wink to the _nicer_ of the receptionists, he waltzed towards the elevator.

 _Panthers’ fans. I’ve never liked them,_ he thought, and shivered hoping it wasn’t an omen.

The cafe had an array of drinks, mainly coffee with exotic sounding names. Tooru asked for a latte, then changed to water, deciding that perhaps the receptionist had a point, and coffee stains were not a good look. He picked up a small packet of biscuits, paid quickly, then sat at one of the small tables for two against the window.

Picking up the bottle of water, he went to undo it, then stopped mid-twist, and held it to his face. It was cool against his forehead, soothing away the incoming headache, one he knew he’d have to grit his way through, at least until the interview was over.

There was another twenty minutes until his appointment, time he could use to calm himself, to reflect, to find something to distract him. It was like those moments before a match, moments where he’d decide he had to retie his laces until each loop was the same size. Or the ruses he needed to cover up his nerves. Little tricks he’d devised way back in High School, like dropping away from the team to chat to fans, flicking his hair in the mirror, making sure his white knee bandage was folded ‘just so’, winding up Iwa-chan (although that had another purpose – Hajime played much better fuelled by rage). Everything calculated until that last moment before he stepped on court and became their captain.

He reached for his phone.

**< <Iwa-chaaaaaaaan.>>**

No answer. _Dammit, where is he?_

**< <I’m bored.>>**

He didn’t reply, so with a sigh, Tooru put his phone down and stared instead at the Osaka skyline.

 _This is not a match,_ he told himself.

But that wasn’t stopping the butterflies in his stomach, or the dull throb in his temple. It was too important to be waved away with a flick of his hands. To gain a starting place on national team when they challenged for the Olympics, he had to train harder and fight smarter. With this deal, he could work fewer hours and focus on volleyball.

Now all he had to do was convince them that he was worth their investment.

 _Thank all the gods, Boku-chan has signed for Fighto NRG,_ he thought, because as talented, and good-looking as Tooru was, he knew he didn’t have Bokuto’s all round family appeal. High-end sportswear was far more in keeping with his image.

Taking a deep breath, rolling his shoulders (and hearing a satisfactory crick as they untensed) Tooru glanced at his phone. It was time to move. Deciding the bottle was too bulky, he left it on the table, packed the untouched biscuits in his pocket, and headed for the elevator.

 

He didn’t go direct to Floor Eight. He’d meant to. He pressed the correct button, but the elevator plunged past his destination and down to the ground floor, indicating someone else had summoned it first. He wasn’t late, and another few moments spent not waiting outside an office were not a hardship, so Tooru leant back on the handrail, pretended it was mid-match timeout from years before, raised his face to the ceiling and took several deep breaths.

The lift came to a halt, and there was a moment, a millisecond, a brief accent, when all was normal, all was right in Tooru’s world. He would rise to Floor Eight, greet Kobayashi-san with his most charismatic smile and wait for the deal to land in his lap. It was in the bag. It was-

“Oikawa?”

_What the -_

Jolted, Tooru couldn’t move. His hands gripped the rail, even before his eyes flew open to confirm what he knew by voice alone.

_What the hell is he doing here?  Okay, breathe, play it cool._

 “Ushiwaka-chan?” he said slowly, adding a question to his voice and tilting his face to one side. “It _is_ you. How long has it been?”

“Two years.”

“Mmm, I think you’re right. We left university and then  ...” He trailed off, waiting for a response.

 “You play for the Blazers.” The tone sounded accusatory.

“I do indeed,” Tooru replied, not really surprised. His eyes flicked up and down, taking in the dark-suited man standing in front of him as the doors to the elevator closed and it began to move.

“They finished fourth.”

He winced. The statement of facts. Fourth place, so distinctly average. Of course, he’d mention that.

“Last year, yes.” He examined at his nails, pushing down the cuticle. “You’re in Osaka.”

“I am.”

 “For a visit?”

“I am visiting.”

“Oh.”  Tooru licked his lips, and then swallowed. “How is Brazil?”

“Hot.”

This was worse than pulling teeth!

“Yes, I can tell. You look far less ... vampiric.”

“Vampiric?” He stared at Tooru. “What does that mean?”

“You used to be very pale, probably because you spent so much time inside the gym, so....” Ushijima frowned. “You have a tan!” Tooru exclaimed, and then sighed. “Oh, forget it. It was a joke.”

“We trained outside more in Sao Paulo,” Ushijima said, appearing to nod his acquiescence of the joke “On the beach, too.” He chopped at the space with his hand as if performing karate. “Sea air.”

“What?”

“Sea air helps you tan quicker. The ozone is thinner.”

“If you say so.” Tooru murmured and leant back against the railing. “Press the button again, will you?”

“I have.”

“Mmm, _I_ want floor _eight_ ,” he replied, fishing a little, but Ushijima stared doggedly ahead. “Would you mind-”

“I have pressed the button.”

“Then why have we stopped?”

“To let people in.” Ushijima said, as if it were obvious.

“Then the doors would open, and the bell would ding,” Tooru snapped. “Now, will you press the button again?”

In a move that took Tooru by surprise, Ushijima slammed his palm against the panel. As the elevator jerked, the lights behind each button flared on, flickered ... then died. So hearing a scraping noise, Tooru chewed his lip, and glanced up at the ceiling.

 _Just my luck,_ he thought gloomily.   _Alone in an elevator with the biggest bore in Japan._

“We’re stuck!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Banging on the door, Ushijima raised his voice. “CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?”

“I can,” Tooru trilled and started to laugh. “Ushiwaka-chan looks so flustered. You’ll injure your spiking hand with that ruckus.”

“The lift is STUCK!”

“It will move soon,” Tooru drawled, and rested back against the wall. He studied Ushijima’s back view, wondering if it were possible that he’d grown in the two years since he’d seen him, or maybe it was just that in this lift, he looked bigger. _Perhaps it’s the dark suit,_ he thought, _but his legs look much longer. Or maybe he’s bulked out..._

“Are you going to help?” Ushijima demanded, turning his whole body around and  frowning.

“I don’t want to lose my voice,” Tooru said and rolled his eyes, exaggerating the movement with a yawn.

Which he stifled when he saw Ushijima’s face.

Although tanned, he looked oddly ashen. Maybe it was the widened eyes accentuating hollows under his eyes, or the sweat beading at his temple, but his elevator companion was fidgeting with his hands, smoothing them up and down his trousers.

Tooru smirked. “What’s the matter, Ushiwaka-chan?”

“I have an appointment,” he replied, tight-lipped. “I don’t want to be late.”

Clicking his tongue, Tooru fished in his pocket for his phone. It was a little before two o’clock. “Me, either,” he said and started to punch out the main switchboard number.  “Dammit.”

“What?”

“No signal,” Tooru replied, grimacing. “Must be the thick walls. Ah, well, I expect we’ll be moving soon.”

“But I will be late. That doesn’t look good!”

_You really are getting irate. Must be important._

“So will I,” Tooru soothed. “I wouldn’t worry. My appointment is now, so they’ll know something’s wrong when I don’t turn up, especially when they realise the lift isn’t moving.”

“There are five lifts, Oikawa.”

“Hmm?”

“FIVE lifts. I counted,” Ushijima told him.

 He slow clapped as he grinned. “So, you can count. Well done.”

“Which means,” Ushijima continued, not rising at all to the obvious sarcasm (Tooru doubted he’d got it. He’d been dense all through school and university, and the intervening two years and time abroad didn’t appear to have broadened his perspective.) “That they won’t know straight away if one lift is non-operational, especially as this one only has two people in it.”

“Emergency phone.”

“Pardon?”

“The emergency phone is behind you, Ushiwaka,” Tooru explained, slowing his words as if speaking to a foreigner. “Dial it and tell them where we are.”

Without even giving a curt nod, Ushijima twisted back to the control panel. His hands fumbled for the phone, dropping the receiver so the cord dangled to his knee.

“Butterfingers,” Tooru teased. “What have they done to you in Brazil?”

“HELLO!”

“You don’t need to shout. It’s a telephone, not a loud haler.”

“Hello. Hello! WE’RE STUCK!  HELLO!” He crashed the receiver back onto the latch. “No answer.”

“Try again,” Tooru suggested.

“They didn’t speak.”

“You did shout. Maybe they got scared.”

Ushijima frowned. It was actually surprising, now Tooru thought about it, how different his frowns were. Perhaps in the same way grey had fifty shades,  Ushiwaka had fifty different frowns. This one was a perplexed frown, he thought.

“There was a brrrrrrrr sound.”

Now the frown looked less perplexed and more irritated. Like a scowl.

“Operator-chan is cold?” Tooru suggested, his lips twitching.

“And then a thunk.”

“That was you shouting. Telephone operators have feelings just like you and me, you know?” he said, then shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t know.”

“There was no one there,” Ushijima insisted. “The phone is dead.”

“Oh.” Tooru pushed himself off the wall, gnawed at his lip and then strode over to the phone. “Hello,” he said into the receiver, using his special honeyed tone. A brrr then a thunk. “You’re right.”

“I told you.” He was terse, his shoulders even stiffer, but his fingers were twisting in his jacket, knuckles bent and white. “I need to get out. I have an appointment.”

“And as I said, so do I,” Tooru said irritably. “I’ve missed the start. Kobayashi-san had better not hold this against me.” He wrinkled up his nose, then stared at Ushijima. “You’re frowning again. Well, you always frown, but this is a ‘I-don’t-understand’ type of expression.”

“Kobayashi-san,” Ushijima said. “Why are you seeing him?”

“Not really any of your business... Oh!”He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you seeing him?”

“How do you know I am?” he demanded.

“Because you’re interested,” Tooru replied. He smacked his lips together. “Now, why would the head of Stay Koolah Clothes for Pros be holding a meeting with you, Ushiwaka-chan? Especially as it’s mid-season in Brazil.”

“No.”

_What?_

“Yes, it is,” Tooru said, smiling kindly. “You play for the San Paolo Commodores. _Sometimes_ you even play for the first team.”

He kept his face straight at the dig.

“I’ve left them.”

“What?” This was news.

“I want to play in Japan.”

“Who for?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Tooru raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push it, wondering if Ushijima was deliberately being enigmatic. _No, doubt it. He just is._

“But you’re here to see Kobayashi-san. Why?”

Ushijima shrugged. “I had a message left at my hotel.”  He frowned, this time looking confused as if the thought of someone leaving him a message was unusual. “No one is supposed to know I’m here.”

“Your agent will have told him.”

He shook his head slowly. “Satori knows not to.”

“Who?”

“Tendou Satori, my agent.”

Hastily disguising a snort into a cough, Tooru smoothed his face straight. “Tendou-chan is your agent.”

“He is.”

“The same Tendou Satori that played for Shiratorizawa as a Middle Blocker.”

“Yes, the same.”

“Then of course he did!” Tooru scoffed. “I should have thought of this before. Double crossing rat. Always keeping his options open.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s my agent, too,” Tooru replied, and sighed. “I’m meeting with Kobayashi to discuss a sponsorship deal. Obviously has no faith that I can land this thing.  Git!”

_Clank._

“What was that?” Startled, Ushijima backed away from the control panel, stepping so fast he almost tripped on his heel.

“Hello!” Tooru called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Can you hear us?”

“There’s no one there!” Ushijima cried. “The lift is moving.”

“No, it’s not,” Tooru said exasperated.

“It’s swaying, I can feel it!”

“Ushiwaka!” Tooru snapped. “Calm down.” He blinked as Ushijima, once so stiff and imposing, flopped back against the wall, gripping the rail tight.

“It’s not swaying,” Tooru said, matter-of-factly. “You are. Now, sit down.”

“On the floor?”

“No on the futon in the corner.” Tooru grimaced, then sighed. “Sorry. I can see you’re scared.”

“No.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, eyes wide. “I won’t tell.”

“I am not scared,” Ushijima replied, his eyes flicking from side to side. “It is a ... condition.”

“Hmmm?”

“A phobia. I have claustrophobia.” He coughed. “Mildly.”

“How mild?”

“Few breaths.” He stopped speaking, inhaled through his nose, closed his eyes, and then exhaled slowly. And from where he stood, Tooru could see Ushijima’s fingers tapping slightly against his thigh.

“What are you counting?”

“That is better,” he intoned.

“Is it? You still look grey.”

“My pulse rate is lowering.”

“Is it?”

“I am calm.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can breathe.”

“Mmm, so can I. Marvellous, isn’t it?”

“Will you shut up!”

Tooru burst into laughter. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Ushijima remotely angered, always keeping so tight lid on everything, it was hard to think of him as having any emotions at all.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You amuse me, Ushiwaka-chan.” He laughed again. “It’s a first. You never have before.”

“What?”

“Pissed off and exasperation were the usual feelings you aroused in me.”

“Aroused?” He looked horrified.

“Is that a blush?” Tooru started to giggle, feeling like a schoolboy. “Oh, stop with the frowny face. I don’t mean it that way.”

“I need to start again,” he thought he heard Ushijima mutter, and glancing at him, he watched as he began the breathing exercise again, fingers still tapping out some rhythm, starting quick before slowing.

 _Was that how he did it during matches?_   Tooru wondered, remembering the utter calm behind the power. Cold, deliberate, terrifying, even to Tooru and Hajime, who’d tussled with Shiratorizawa since Junior High.

“My pulse is lowering.”

_Inhale. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Exhale._

“I am calm.”

_Inhale. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Exhale._

“I can breathe.”

He opened his eyes. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Not laughing this time. It’s important not to be disturbed. You know that.”

“How on earth would I know?” Tooru drawled.

 Ushijima’s hands were relaxed, no tense knuckles , and yet his back was as stiff as ever. He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “Rituals. You had them when you played. I remember very clearly, Oikawa. I used to watch from the stands when Aobajousai had their time-outs. You didn’t join in.”

“Oh that.” He waved dismissively. “Getting myself in the zone. I found another way to deal with the pressure.”

“And that was?”

“I practised so hard that as soon as I was on the court, as soon as we’d lined up and I’d shaken hands with the opposing captain, I was already in the zone.”

“And that worked?” Again, there was a shade of disbelief in his voice.

“I realised the team needed a captain who wasn’t absent.”

_Clank.Clank._

Ushijima seized the rail again.

“Hallelujah, I think we’re about to move,” Tooru said, and glanced at his phone, surreptitiously wiping a rather clammy palm on his trousers. “Ten minutes late.”

Ushijima stared across at the control panel, Tooru followed his gaze, taking in the blinding fact that the lights had not flashed back on.

“Maybe not,” he murmured, and leant back against the wall. “What time is your appointment, Ushiwaka-chan?”

“Three,” he mumbled.

“Three?” He bit his lip, desperate to laugh, but as another clank echoed around them, he saw the sweat beading once more on Ushijima’s brow. “You really don’t like being late, do you?”

“Does anyone?”

Tooru considered. “I like working to a deadline. All through school and university, I worked on my essays right up to the time limit.”

“I made a start on assignments as soon as I was given them.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Tooru said, arching his eyebrows.

“We had to at Shiratorizawa,” he replied bluntly. “That way we could play volleyball.” His hands had loosened around the rail. “Was that why you didn’t come to-”

“Your school?”  Tooru laughed. “Nothing as mundane.”

“Then why? You never gave a satisfactory answer, Oikawa, and I know you were offered a place twice.”

Holding up his hand, Tooru hooked his little finger down with his thumb, and held up the remaining fingers. “Three times.”

“When?”

He was about to shake his head, to laugh it off, when a loud creak rent the air. Ushijima began to take his breaths again, but this time they were fast and his fingers instead of tapping furled around his suit jacket.

“Before I joined Kitigawa Daiichi,” Tooru said, nearly tripping on his words.

Ushijima huffed out a breath. “Why did you refuse?”

“Wasn’t my call,” Tooru said smoothly, deliberately not looking at the ceiling, where the clanking continued.

 

(“I don’t want to go there!”

“It’s a very good school,” his mother soothed and stroked his hair. “All the right sort of people.”

 _Right sort?_ What did that mean? He scowled and stabbed his chopstick into a piece of chicken.

“They have volleyball, Tooru,” his dad put in. He had the letter in his hand, frowning as he studied the terms of the offer. “That’s why they want you.”

“Don’t care! Kitigawa Daiichi play volleyball, too. And Iwa-chan’s going there!”

“You can’t choose your school based on where Iwaizumi-kun is going,” his dad said coldly.

“Why not?” he asked pugnaciously.  “Still a good school. You said that when we went to see it.”

“Because...” His dad spluttered for an answer and at that moment, Tooru knew he’d won.

Not that his mum had given up, already picturing herself at his graduation in her best dress and hat, sparkling among the other well-to-do parents.

“Shiratorizawa have other things apart from volleyball,” she said the following day. She’d sat him at the kitchen table and placed a plate of biscuits in front of him. Usually she’d only allow him one after school, but that day she’d piled the plate high with them, _and_ poured him a cola as well.

He snorted, but said nothing, intent on getting through as many biscuits as he could before she whipped them away.

“Horse riding – just think of that,” she continued. He pulled a face. She smiled, and tried again. “And so many tennis courts, Tooru-chan. I used to play at school. You’ll love it.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Team sports are better. I like volleyball.”

“There’s volleyball at Shiratorizawa!” she wailed.

He munched on another biscuit, then picked up two, stuffing them in his pocket. “Iwa-chan’s waiting for me at Little Tykes, and his mom said I can sleep over.”

“Go on,” she said and sighed.)

 

“Your p-parents said no?” Ushijima’s voice, his whole expression was rife with disbelief.

“Something like that,” Tooru muttered, but he doubted Ushijima was taking it in.

 _Inhale. Tap-tap._ Clench. Clench _. Exhale._

 _Inhale._ Clench. Clench _. Tap-tap. Exhale._ Gasp _. Inhale._ Pant.

“Hey, Ushiwaka-chan!” Tooru called out, and snapped his fingers. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“I am calm.”

“No, you’re not. Try rolling your shoulders, or ... uh ...” He fished inside his suit pocket, smiling when his hand made contact with its contents. “Biscuit?”

“What?”  His voice rasped. He continued to pant, but as the creaking went on, he wiped one fist against his brow. “I don’t want to eat. Biscuits aren’t healthy. Have you seen the sugar content? And it’s not natural sugar. All manufactured and - ”

Ignoring him, Tooru tore open the packet, snapped a biscuit in half and shoved it into Ushijima’s mouth. “You’re panicking. You are flushing between hot and cold and that’s not good. You need this unhealthy piece of crap to stop you collapsing. Eat it.”

He crunched letting the biscuit half fall into his mouth. And judging by the way his head jerked up and he glared at Tooru, it had been a long time since he’d obeyed a peer’s order.

“Any better?” Tooru asked, holding out the other half.

“A little,” he conceded.

He resisted the urge to crow. Instead, Tooru took his own advice, helped himself to a biscuit and sat on the floor. “It’s getting hot,” he remarked. “The air con must have died.”

 _Inhale._ Clench.

“You should take off your jacket,” Tooru said, and wriggled out of his own, hanging it on the railing.  He plucked at his shirtfront, letting it flop back as he tried to fan some air to his face.

“I am fine like this.”

“It’s a jacket, Ushiwaka,” Tooru murmured. “I’m not going to leap on you for exposing some shirt sleeve.”

“That is not...”  Ushijima blinked. “Why do you say things like that?”

“What things?”

He stared at Tooru, not put out, but clearly puzzled. “You always joke. How do people know when you’re serious?”

“Um, they don’t, I guess,” Tooru replied.

“And it’s deliberate, I think. A strategy to keep them guessing?” He nodded in approval.

“Hate to disappoint you,” Tooru said and scrunched up his nose. “But it’s more habit than anything. Do you want another biscuit?”

He shook his head, and then, as the noises from above quietened, Ushijima lowered himself onto the floor.

“The other times,” he said, inhaling as he kept his voice even. “Why did you turn down Shiratorizawa?  Was it always down to your parents?”

 

( _Aobajousai High_.  Tooru had read the literature and perused the website a dozen times. He knew the school a little, as his sister had gone there, but he’d never thought about it much in her time. Now he was visiting, an open day to see if he’d fit in.

“Gym’s enormous!” Iwa-chan’s eyes were wide like saucers, a grin lifting his face as he stared around him. “Everything’s so big!”

“Not Junior High now,” Tooru said, trying to keep calm, but unable to quell the excitement bubbling inside of him. 

They stood on the threshold of the gym, all smart in their Kitigawa uniforms. The older boys – much bigger boys – seemingly ignored them, but there was a sudden upswing in activity. One boy, probably a third year, began to serve, leaping high into the air and slamming the ball onto the opposing side of the court.

“Out,” Tooru whispered.

“Oi, you two. What are you doing here?” someone else shouted as he wandered over. He wasn’t as tall, but stockier and awash with confidence.

“Come to look round,” Tooru called out when Iwa-chan seemed tongue- tied. “We play volleyball.”

“Yeah, saw _you_ at the Junior High tournament. Oikawa Tooru, right. Got the best Setter award, yeah?” He grinned as he fluffed a hand through his hair, letting it flop onto his brow.

Tooru nodded and smiled, amazed he’d been recognised. “And this is my friend. He also plays.”

The guy who’d been serving wandered over. He bent over the pair of them, using his undoubted superior height to his advantage. “You look familiar, too. What position do you play?”

“Wing Spiker.”

“He’s Kitigawa’s Ace!” Tooru interrupted.

“Well, he’s not Seijou’s,” the boy replied, and picking up a bottle of water, he took a gulp. Then he turned and winked. “Not yet. Fancy a practise?”

Excited, they kicked off their shoes and sped into the gym.

“This is where it starts, Iwa-chan!”

“Huh?” Hajime was stamping his trousers down his legs, desperate to pull on his shorts and a shirt. “Where what starts?”

“Ushiwaka-chan. We’ll take him down, from here, yes?”

“Yeah...” He grinned out of pure pleasure. “We will.”)

 

“Your parents said no again?” Ushijima said, completely at a loss. “Why would they do that?”

“Possibly parents who knew I needed a nemesis,” Tooru replied. He feigned a shrug, remembering his mother’s angry tears when he resolutely refused to even look at Shiratorizawa.

“Me?”

“No, the Queen of Sheba,” he said, and laughed. “The rivalry served us well, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t need another rival,” Ushijima said slowly.

“What other rival did you have, Ushiwaka-chan?” he asked, genuinely interested, for Ushijima had always been the strongest among them all. Maybe that’s what he meant. “What drove you on?”

“Myself.”

“That’s deep.”

“I wanted to be the best. I still do.” He ran one hand (a non-trembling hand, Tooru noticed) through his hair. “You could have made it to Nationals with us. You were the best Setter in the Prefecture.”

If it had been anyone else but Ushijima, Tooru would have sworn he was being jeered at, but the face staring back at him was deadpan, intense, and utterly sincere in what he believed.

“And that’s why at the end of my first year at Seijou I turned you down for the third time,” Tooru murmured.

“I don’t understand.”

“My rival for the Setter award,” Tooru began. “I remember him so clearly from Junior High. Incredible game sense, strong, although not especially powerful serve, and pinpoint accuracy whenever he tossed. Yet ... he was discarded. A pinch-server at best.”

“Eita did not fit the team.”

“No, he didn’t fit _you_. Ushijima Wakatoshi was the team. That was how Shiratorizawa played. But I _had_ my ace, and I had other players around me who were strong. Seijou were a team of perfect construction. We connected on a level it’s been hard to find since.”

“You lost.”

“Mmm, so we did, but it didn’t make us losers,” Tooru replied. “And we both know volleyball and dreams don’t end in High School.” He leant across, giving him a smile as he stretched out his hand and brushed some biscuit crumbs from Ushijima’s sleeve. “Or you wouldn’t be here now in your expensive suit and a _very_ fetching Brazilian tan.”

Ushijima’s breath hitched, not a panicked gasp, it was slow and barely there, but Tooru caught the sound and also the way his pupils dilated, an impossible reaction to fake.

“What are you-”

“HELLO! ANYONE IN THERE?”

The other voice, loud but true, intruded as surely as if a ball had been spiked between them. Ushijima jerked away, but Tooru, after another half smile, turned to the source of the voice.

“There are two of us trapped,” he cried.

“Okey-doke. We’ll have the elevator goin’ again soon. Just a matter of gettin’ the backup generator going.”

“A power cut, then?”

“Yeah, we had a quake.”

“Serious?”

“Nah. Few minor injuries down the street. Don’t move.”

“We’re hardly going anywhere,” Tooru said dryly.

“Do you work here?” another voice – a female this time - asked. “Only, I have a list and I’m trying to track people down.”

“We’re both visitors. I’m Oikawa Tooru, and the other person is Ushiwaka-”

“USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI!” he shouted, glaring at Tooru. “I have an appointment with Kobayashi-san at three o’clock.”

“I have one at two,” Tooru added. “I’m a _leetle_ bit late. I hope he understands.”

“I’ll let him know.” Her voice became fainter as her footsteps pattered away from them.

The man, their rescuer, came back. “All right, the generator’s taken a hit, so ... uh ... it might be longer than we hoped. Are you both okay in there?”

Tooru glanced sideways, checking Ushijima, making sure the hurried breaths hadn’t returned. His companion had closed his eyes, but his chest’s rise and fall had returned to normal. “We’re fine,” Tooru replied, when Ushijima remained silent. “It’s hot here, though. Any idea how much longer?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Well, if the generator’s damaged, then we need the fire brigade here to get this open.”

“Through the ceiling?” Ushijima queried, and his eyes had started to flicker in alarm.

“Nah, mate, you’re halfway stuck on Floor Five. If we jimmy these doors open, you can get out easy. Right, I gotta check out the next floor. Back later,” he said cheerily, and started to whistle.

Fanning his face, Tooru thought longingly of the bottle of water he’d left in the cafe. There was one biscuit left, but his mouth was so dry it would be unswallowable.  Ushijima had edged away, now sitting motionless in the corner, his eyes dull, expression stoic.

“If I were you, Ushiwaka-chan, I’d remove my jacket. You heard the man, we could be here a while.”

“I prefer to keep it on.”

“Suit yourself.” He tugged his shirttails out of his trouser waistband, then got to his feet, mooching across to the other wall. “Question!”

“Huh?”

“Your turn to answer, I think,” Tooru said, studying him. “Why oh why would Ushiwaka-chan go to Brazil straight from college instead of signing for a Japanese team? I never understood that.”

“It’s the best league in the world.”

“Mmm, but they have huge squads and you were ... well ... I hate to say this, but over there you’re distinctly ordinary.”

“We improve by playing with better players.”

“Only if the gap is reachable and you get to play.” He pondered, chewing the side of his mouth. “It’s not as if the money is any better, over there.”

“You know a lot about it, Oikawa.”

“Curious that’s all. Like to keep my eye on all my rivals. Tobio-chan, for instance has just signed for the Arrows, joining Nishinoya.”

“Who?”

“Karasuno’s Libero. You can _not_ have forgotten him.” He smirked, seeing Ushijima’s discomfort, memories still as unsettling and fresh as if they’d been the week before and not five years ago.

“He _was_ good.”

“So ... why Brazil?” He pared his nail, waiting for an answer. “Or rather, why then? You were fresh out of college, could have signed for any club, but you ... ” He wanted to say ‘ran’ because Ushijima’s decision to leave Japan had always struck him as the act of someone fleeing from something.

The silence was palpable, and despite his inclination to push and provoke, Tooru kept quiet because he knew now was not the time to speak. Ushijima would clam up if he continued, and Tooru was genuinely interested in his career path, not just because he’d returned.

“Family,” he muttered at last. “My father lives there. He coaches kids. I helped ... for a while.”

 _Oh._  

“You never struck me as a teacher, Ushijima-kun,” Tooru said. “Have I misjudged you?”

As Ushijima’s face twisted into a smile, Tooru looked on too shocked for even a smart remark. “You’re right, Oikawa-kun. I was not a good teacher, but ... uh ...” He trailed off, lifting his face to the ceiling, and again the smile was there, rendering his face much lighter, happier than Tooru had ever seen. “I needed the challenge. I ... I need it now.”

“Which is why you’re back and about to sign for ...?”

“Indeed.” He grinned again. “I can’t tell you. It’s not definite.”

“It’s the Panthers, isn’t it? I knew it!”

He’d never heard Ushijima laugh, hadn’t even given a thought to what his laugh would be like, but he wasn’t surprised to hear it rich and deep, smooth like velvet, also warm - his stomach gave a little flip – _attractive_.

“You haven’t changed in the slightest, Oikawa. Still living by rivalries.”

“And you think you’re above them.”

“I ... lose focus.” He puffed out a breath. “It’s hot here. When will they be back?”

“Who knows?” Tooru flapped his shirt again, feeling it stick to his sides. “How you can bear that jacket and tie, I don’t know.”

“It was hotter in Brazil.”

“And you wore a suit all the time over there?”

“Of course not.” He gave Tooru another of his scowls. “I wore my ... Oh, another joke.”

“Not really. Just pointing out that propriety barely applies. We’re stuck in a lift, it’s getting to sauna levels, and no one can see us, yet you insist on keeping on your jacket and tie.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”  Shifting away from the wall, he turned his back and shrugged out of his jacket, one shoulder at a time.

Tooru’s lips twitched as Ushijima carefully folded his jacket over the rail, tweaking the seams so there was no chance of creasing. Then he loosened his tie, pulling it through his collar and with precision hung it next to the jacket.

It was when he turned around, his arms crossed at the wrists over his torso that Tooru began to chuckle.  “Not quite so formal, then, Ushiwaka-chan.”

“It’s a new shirt,” he muttered, scowling yet again.

“How dare it behave with such recalcitrance!” Tooru teased. “Seriously, how could you lose two buttons?”

“I was in a hurry. I did have this appointment, and there were threads dangling, so I pulled.”

“You turned up an hour early for your appointment. You had acres of time to buy another shirt.”

“But not to iron it. This was the better option, Oikawa.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t even bother hiding the grin, but laughed openly, amused at the facade crumbling before him, and Ushijima’s obvious displeasure at being discovered.

“Kobayashi-san would not have seen,” he said stubbornly, and still in an obvious bate, flung his hands in the air. “Why is everything _such_ a joke to you, Oikawa?  It’s always been like this. So ... INFURIATING!”

He was close to losing his temper, to showing more anger in one minute than Tooru had ever seen across the court, and maybe that was why his mouth felt a whole lot drier. Perhaps it was fear (Ushiwaka was taller and broader, after all). Or was it because when Ushijima had moved, the shirt had gaped, exposing a tanned like oak stomach, defined abs and a sprinkling of black hair.

_Fuck!_

“Why are you like this?” Ushijima continued. “What is the point?  Where does it get you? You never take anything seriously at all. It’s the reason you never made it to-”

“Nationals?” Tooru queried, snapping right out of his contemplation, and turning his best scowl onto the man in front of him. “Never, _ever,_ say I didn’t take that seriously. Losing to you was the worst experience of my life.”

“You chose that path,” Ushijima insisted. “And I still don’t understand why. The most logical course, the best way for you would have been at Shiratori-”

Tooru flapped his hand, dismissing Ushijima’s words before he could finish. “Those experiences _made_ me. And believe me, I am deadly serious about volleyball.  That’s why I’m here today to chase a sponsorship deal for a poncey sports brand clothes label.” He shook his head, trying to lighten the intensity between them, because the atmosphere now, in the heat and sealed with steel walls was cloying. “I will never regret turning your school down. I merely regret that we didn’t have the power and knowledge to defeat you, Ushiwaka. And besides ...” His lips involuntarily smoothed into a smile, not his charming smile, not a smirk, but something smaller, something akin to friendship and a little bit teasing...

“Besides what?”

“All right, lads!”

Tooru turned away, staring up at the top half of the door. “Rescuer-chan is back,” he said unnecessarily.

“We’re goin’ to jemmy the doors apart,” the man said. “Fire services are delayed, and the generator’s takin’ too long. Then you can climb out, okay? Just ... uh ... stand back.”

“Will do,” Tooru called back, and stepped slowly into one corner – the corner across from where Ushijima was now standing. “Won’t be long now.”

Ushijima was staring at him, his eyes sideways glancing. “Besides, what?” he repeated.

The doors began to part, and a sliver of light from the corridor pierced between them. Feigning ignorance, Tooru picked up his jacket and busied himself in brushing off invisible crumbs. “Hmm?”

“You _should_ have come to Shiratorizawa.”

“Oh, no,” Tooru replied, and stared right at him, letting his eyes fly up and down, taking in the long, long legs, shoulders broader than any beam, and features that looked as if they’d been chiselled from granite. Seeing a faint flush under the tan, Tooru smiled and slowly licked his lips. “You, Wakatoshi -chan, would have been far too distracting.”


End file.
